


Rainstorms and Mint

by Chaos_Silk (CrimsonChaos)



Category: Arc the Lad: Twilight of the Spirits
Genre: Brothers, Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonChaos/pseuds/Chaos_Silk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise known as: five times Kharg healed Darc and one time Darc returned the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainstorms and Mint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my best friend because bad things have happened and I want to make her feel better about it. We're well aware that the fandom is practically dead, but we love it anyway. Please enjoy.

Darc regarded the gash on his right forearm with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, tentatively poking the half-healed skin around it. A couple of minutes ago, it had been about a foot long and deep enough that he could see muscle, then he’d slathered a paste made from healing herbs over it and it had shrunk until it was barely longer than his finger, barely shallow enough to bleed and aching like it hadn’t been treated at all. The rest of his injuries had healed over almost instantaneously thanks to the lingering magic in the herbs, but now he was out and still hurting.

Normally he didn’t have to think about whether he had enough healing items because he was usually fighting alongside at least one person competent enough with healing magic to ensure that he never had to worry or deal with it longer than five minutes afterward. However now, his only back-up was a weak human girl and he had entered a tentative alliance with his brother and the strange human he had brought with him as they fought to prove their worthiness to the guardians of Hope cavern. He had enough spirit stones; the one healing spell he knew would probably be able to heal it completely, but he wanted to conserve them just in case things between him and his sibling ended badly. Besides, this was as good of a chance as any to test Kharg’s sincerity.

Kharg was standing a couple feet away from where Darc was tending to his injury, studying the carvings on the wall, the one that had triggered the appearance of the guardian-beasts. If he had been injured during the fight, he wasn’t now, which meant he either had a stash of herbs that he should be sharing, or knew better healing spells than Darc did. Being that they were of Drakyr blood and most Drakyr didn’t do healing –hell, most _Deimos_ didn’t either-, Darc was willing to bet it was the former but privately hoped for the latter.

His father had once told him that a healing spell could tell him a lot more about a deimos than he could ever find out on his own. A deimos’s magic reflected their personality and healing spells allowed the receiving party to feel/smell/taste their magic while it worked, a trait unique only to them. Delma’s felt like sun-warmed stone just hot enough to singe, but not enough to cause injury, smelled like smoke, ash and beneath all that, some floral scent he’d never bothered to name, tasting like fresh baked bread and ashes. Camellia’s magic felt like green, growing things, healthy leaves and huge flowers and a thirst so heavy it was hard to swallow after she healed him, smelled like earth and leaves and damp, tasted of herbal tea and dirt. He wanted to experience Kharg’s magic like that, to know what his brother’s core nature was, so he knew something about his brother other than anger, vengeance and a bloodthirst to rival any deimos’s.

As Darc approached, Kharg watched him out of the corner of his eye, tensing and turning to face his brother as Darc stepped close enough to attack. With the arrogance that only a true king would have –or so he thought-, Darc stuck out his forearm, showcasing the half-healed wound. “Fix this.” He snarled, trusting that Kharg would do as he said, even though a part of him was preparing for a fight.

Kharg regarded him for a heartbeat, dark eyes meeting his gaze evenly before flicking down to assess the damage. In this light, Darc couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, they looked like they were brown at first glance, but were reflecting red in the light, much, much darker than his own but still red. Yet another Deimos part of his brother that hid in plain sight; it made Darc want to punch him in the face.

As Darc’s lips curled up into a snarl, light shimmered around Kharg then around Darc, immersing him in healing magic, the lowest and most basic spell, the same one Darc knew. Kharg’s magic felt like a gentle rainstorm on a hot day, cool water and a refreshing breeze against heated, parched skin; it tasted like rainwater and mint, pure and overwhelmingly strong; smelled like the air right before a bad storm. It felt like the closest Darc had ever come to home. As quick as it had come, it left, leaving Darc staring at Kharg’s back as he walked away without a single word, the taste of mint heavy on his tongue, feeling phantom raindrops clinging to his skin, leaving behind a feeling of renewal and hope.

It didn’t help Darc’s desire to punch Kharg in the face in the slightest, but it made him feel better knowing that despite everything, he wasn’t a bad guy at heart. He was just misguided, defending the humans instead of the obviously superior race.

 

 

* * *

 

Fire raced through Darc’s veins, originating from white-hot flare-burst in his chest where a bullet had ripped through it. A lucky shot from the Dilzweld soldiers he and Kharg were fighting against. The edges of his vision were growing dark, what he could see shaking with his body. Each breath he took gurgled, the copper-metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

He knew with absolute certainty that the wound was fatal, and as he fell to his knees, someone caught him, one hand tracing the sharp-pain exit wound on his back as he supported him, slick with his life’s blood. Darc stared blearily at his rescuer, barely able to make out the features of his brother’s face as he mumbled something at him that he couldn’t quite hear. A part of him wondered if this was how his mo- Nafia felt when she was dying, but it wasn’t that quick, hers had been slow and preventable. This was…

This was…

As soon as the thought flew through his head, he was wrapped in Kharg’s magic, a healing spell beyond what he himself was capable of, equal in strength with one of Camellia’s strongest. It wasn’t a gentle storm like before, more of a hurricane, strong winds sweeping up everything in its path as the rain tried to drown it out; rainwater and mint overpowering the copper-blood taste in his mouth. He could smell the storm and the lightning that came with it. It wasn’t raindrops this time, it was a flood; he was drowning in Kharg’s magic.

He blinked and the world was suddenly clearer, breath coming as easy as it had been before he’d been shot. Kharg’s voice echoing in his ears, telling him to breathe, to live, gentle hands wiping away the blood in direct contrast to his fierceness in battle before. His face was flushed, filling up the entirety of Darc’s vision, red-dark eyes filled with panic and regret. Not able to stand it, Darc reached up and smacked him lightly on the cheek, trying to bring back the anger from before.

Kharg dropped him in the sand.

 

 

* * *

 

Kharg was strong, Darc had known that from the start, but he had assumed that with his allies by his side, they could beat him easily. He was wrong. Kharg as he was on Cragh Island was off-kilter, running off of rage and hate, using his sword to hack through enemies instead of using magic and skills to take them out. They could have taken that Kharg easily, if it were him fighting alone.

This Kharg, however, this Kharg still wasn’t as centered as he should be, still enraged and distraught; his emotions didn’t make him stronger like they did a Deimos. But he was still dangerous, much, much more dangerous than Darc ever would have thought. All it had taken was one wrong move, greatly underestimating their opponent. After Droguza, he had thought they could take on anything together and then Kharg was there in the center of their formation with a speed that made Darc wince, and then wind was attempting to flay them alive. Kharg’s companions had used this time to take his allies out while Kharg dueled with him.

They had lost. _He_ had lost. Despite knowing Kharg’s magic, despite what little he actually knew about his brother; had known he would fight just as fiercely, he had underestimated him. He had made the mistake of thinking of his brother as human; as weak and frail, lacking in power, but creative and inventive. Only the last two things applied to Kharg, and he had brought Darc and his fri-allies to their knees in record time.

Kharg had been standing over him, surely preparing for the final blow and then suddenly…

It was over. Not his life, the world. The Lord of the Dark Abyss had risen, was free and had orchestrated the entire war. Everything he had done since picking up his sword had been a part of his plan; everything aside from going to Cragh Island and meeting Kharg had been a part of it. The Drakyr, losing his wings, Droguza, everything.

His only consolation was that Kharg had fallen for it too; that the Lord had guided him just as forcefully, only worse because instead of using a proxy, he had physically been there. Kharg had spoken with him, trusted him. And he had turned out to be the real monster.

He had taken Lilia, taken the spirit stones and was going to destroy the world if they didn’t stop him. Assuming they could stop him. They were going to try; there was no question in anyone’s mind about that.

Darc had been beaten soundly enough that he couldn’t even stand as the humans exchanged looks and started filing out after the evil to end all evils, one after another. Kharg lingered behind, glancing over his shoulder at him. Their eyes met and Darc snarled at him, broken and bloody, but not defeated. Not like he was before.

Something in his expression must have met Kharg’s approval, because his brother’s lips quirked up into an odd, sad smile. Then Darc was embraced by the wind and the rain, cool water healing his wounds, the taste of mint so strong he felt like he would be tasting it forever. When he looked up, Kharg was gone, but when he could stand again he was going to follow.

He wasn’t going to fall behind him ever again.

 

 

* * *

 

 The corridors of the Flying Castle were long, twisting pathways of horror and confusion, something that Darc shouldn’t be surprised about considering the architect and master, but still found unexpected because a fortress of Doom should be easier to navigate. But perhaps the blame for his wandering lay elsewhere, because he was missing half of his allies, the uncontrollable half and had gained half of Kharg’s in exchange; the half that never shut the hell up. For the last five minutes, Maru had been engaging Bebedora in some word game Kharg had taught him while Tatjana and Camellia argued about, well, he was willing to admit that he was trying not to listen to them.                                                     

They had been quietly fighting over something since the battle for Bebedora’s freedom and haven’t shut up since. When they thought he wasn’t paying attention, they started competing over kills and who did the most damage; which Darc privately found hilarious because compared to him, they were both fricken’ useless as fighters. It was irritating and as long as they didn’t start trying to kill each other until after they found Kharg, he didn’t really care.

It felt like they had been wandering around for weeks, when really it had only been a couple hours –probably, it wasn’t like Darc was a great judge of time- before the finally spotted Kharg’s bright clothing standing out from the darkness ahead. It was the first thing he noticed, the second being that Camellia and Tatjana were not the only females arguing. He didn’t even bother to muffle his snort, which immediately alerted Kharg to their presence.

His brother turned to them, expression somewhere between ‘I have lost control of my life’ and relief that someone else was in the same boat. The relief was short-lived because as soon as Maru caught sight of him the archer took off, dragging Bebedora behind him as he chattered a mile a minute, telling Kharg everything that had transpired while they were separated.

Surprisingly, this didn’t catch the attention of anyone else; the scientist and the pianta sage were still arguing as were Delma and Paulette –theirs seemed to be about whether or not to wait for Darc’s group, which was now a moot point-. He didn’t know where Ganz and Volk were, but he assumed it was around the corner with Delma and Paulette.

Since Maru had shut up –he really wished he knew how Kharg did that, he had been trying and nothing had worked-, he approached his brother, quirking an eyebrow up at him. Kharg stared back, evenly though his expression seemed a bit regretful. Without saying a word, Darc indicated the three sluggishly bleeding lines on his abdomen that neither healer had taken care of. Kharg exhaled, clearly to wound up to do something normal like snort or huff, shaking his head in a way that Darc would call fond.

He lifted his hand, muttering something Darc couldn’t quite make out before rain started pelting his skin, phantom wind ruffling his hair, mint and rainwater mingling on his tongue as the smell of a storm about to break filled his nostrils. As soon as it receded, Kharg was walking away to rejoin his group, Darc a half-step behind.

 

 

* * *

 

Every muscle in his body ached; his head was pounding with the effort of keeping up with so many spells. Darc felt that after this battle was over, if nobody stopped him, he was going to sleep for a week. He had been bruised, beaten, slashed, almost eaten and singed. If he had been able to get close to the giant eyeball the Lord of the Dark Abyss had become without getting fried, he surely would have made him regret it. However, as it was he was delegated to mopping up the smaller eyeballs that were being spat out while those with longer range weapons fired upon the big one from a distance. His only consolation was that Kharg was spending much of his time running around healing instead of fighting.                                     

He sneered at his brother as he ran past to take care of the Paulette-Maru group, gracefully maneuvering around the eyeball Darc was trying to kill, a determined expression on his face even though it had been hours since they started the fight. Kharg rolled his eyes, not even missing a beat as he brushed past him, shoulders touching for a moment as he promised to heal him on his way back.

A lucky hit, and Darc was flat on the ground, eyeball deflated after accidentally impaling itself on his sword during the attack. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, yanking him up and out of the way of the next attack. He stood back-to-back with his brother as the Lord of the Dark Abyss roared beside them, surrounded by his hellspawn.

There wasn’t anyone he’d rather have at his back more.

Dodge and slash and repeat, muscles aching so bad he could barely hold a sword; Kharg must feel worse, because healing magic required more effort and focus, but when the last eyeball was defeated, he turned and grinned at him just the same. And then cold rain and wind wrapped around him, soothing away his aches, pains and wounds with the taste of mint filling his mouth. Another bump of the shoulders, friendly and easy, far gentler than anything he’s done in his life before, and Kharg is supporting the group on the other side.

Right now he doesn’t need to speak with his brother to understand what he’s thinking. They’ll complicate it with words later, for now, they fight together for the continued survival of their world.

 

 

* * *

 

 It was over. The castle has sank, the spirits are gone and the blood has dried. Cragh Island was both celebrating and mourning and the heroes have dispersed for the night to sleep and decide what to do in the morning. Darc found Kharg seated on the island the Elder Slothians used to live on, legs dangled off the side of the cliff over the water as he carefully tended to the wounds he had gained both from the fight and escaping from the sinking castle. He glanced up as Darc approached, wine-dark eyes calm in a way they haven’t been since before they met, a strip of gauze clenched firmly in his teeth as he raised an eyebrow at him before focusing downward.

Darc snorted, taking a seat beside him but not making a motion to help, just watching Kharg wrestle with his medical supplies. They sat together in silence, or as near to silence as one could get when on an island full of loud animals with the sound of waves as a constant background noise. They didn’t look at each other either, Darc watching the waves as Kharg turned inward, slathering some strong smelling stuff over the abrasions on his thigh.

“You could help, you know.” Kharg stated finally, breaking the odd, comfortable silence that had fallen over them still, not looking at Darc. He slathered a medicinal paste over his skin before applying the bandages, though most of his aches were sprains and herbs weren’t as effective at treating them as magic was, he’d have to wait it out instead of having it heal instantly.

Darc would have said it served him right, having the powerful healing abilities that he did, but from overheard conversations he had inferred that Kharg had only been using magic for about as long as he’d been using a sword. Privately, he thought Kharg’s mastery over healing magic was impressive, but like hell he’d admit that to his face. Especially considering the only advantage he had over him, attack magic, was gone and he knew he couldn’t match him when it came to swordplay.

Not that either of them were going to be fighting against each other for their lives anymore, from now on it would just be for practice. They both had agreed to that without even discussing it out loud. There were other things they needed to discuss with words, but that wasn’t one of them.

“I could, but I’m not going to.” Darc answered, several beats later. His gaze was still focused on the ocean, watching the water lap at the rocks beneath their feet. He didn’t have to look to know that Kharg had raised an eyebrow at him in question.

In a different world, where Darc was willing to make himself vulnerable and Kharg was less defensive, Darc would have admitted that he didn’t know how to help; had never treated his wounds with anything other than magic or herbs, the human way was strange and baffling to him. It was something he was going to have to learn, something that that world’s Kharg was willing to teach him. But this was not that world, would never be that world, Darc had his pride and clung to it like a lifeline while Kharg was still too volatile and cagey.

After a moment of Kharg’s staring; few people realized how patient he was, his gaze could be like water wearing away rock when he chose, only with much faster results; Darc twitched, raising his left hand in his brother’s direction and pretending he didn’t see the obvious flinch run through Kharg’s body at the motion. Like his twin had so many times before, he returned the favor, healing magic; the lowest spell, the only one he knew, streaming from his fingers and wrapping around Kharg.

His hand dropped and Darc regarded Kharg for a beat as he sat there, stunned. It was then he realized that Kharg had never had anyone else use healing magic on him, the only other healer in his party was Tatjana and that was an entirely different class of healing. It was probably the first time he had ever experienced anyone’s magic aside from his own. Darc smirked at his expression, shifting so he was out of range for any counterattack while he bit down laughter.

Once, what felt like centuries ago but was really just a couple months, Volk had put into words what his magic was like; like fire-warmed air on skin after spending hours in the cold, warmth slowly seeping into every part of the body with an ache that came from getting too warm too fast; the smell of lightning and smoke thick enough to choke while cinnamon exploded onto the taste buds. It made his comrades uncomfortable, so he hadn’t bothered to learn any of the higher level spells that would have made it worse, prioritizing offense and support instead of healing. He was too strong to worry about that.

However, seeing Kharg’s absolutely flummoxed face was beyond priceless. He wondered if this was how he looked every time Kharg had healed him, if he had been hiding laughter every time he was walking away. It made sense.

It also made Darc want to punch him in the face, but not in a way that would cause serious harm; just an expression of brotherly frustration and love, for seeing him at his weakest and not being the ass he knew Kharg could be. The world might have changed completely overnight, but they were going to be fine, better than they ever had been before.

“I don’t know any other way.” Darc admitted after Kharg’s confused expression started melting into anger, stunning him all over again. After a moment of staring at each other, they burst into laughter; Kharg offering a small smile as he tried to stifle it, Darc wouldn’t let him; cackling whole-heartedly and loud enough to wake the village.

It was going to turn out better than he had dreamed when he first realized he had a brother; the future looked bright and neither of them would ever feel alone again.

 

 


End file.
